this blog comes with a trigger warning.
this is me begging. for what it’s worth.
Eurydice Dixon is a person. And at the same time, she is not. She is more than a person. She is now a meaning. She is an impact.
I work not ten minutes’ walk for where this woman was found. And as people came in that day she was the unnamed name on everyone’s lips. The found woman. The dead woman. And she was a whisper around my office that I could not give my full attention to. Because so long as she was a whisper? So long as she was a rumour? Then she was not real, then she was a story. Then she was a cautionary tale. She represented a horror I could hide from, ashamed and ignorant.
Now she has a name. Eurydice Dixon. Now she has a face. And the minute I saw it, and heard it, my heart broke. Because she’s one of us. One of us weirdos. One of us artistic humans trying to change the world with laughter and enterprise. One of us promising, potential, pure people who could have been more someone than the someone they were. As a friend of hers cripplingly said “she had time on her side”. Another has confirmed her last text before enduring the unimaginable was to report she was almost home. She might’ve been a lot of things, but the thing she was that really mattered was that she was alive. She was one of our team. She remains one of our team. And in that pain I discovered how I had become desensitized, because no woman is just any woman; every woman who we lose in endemic proportions matters equally when their lives are lost at men’s violent hands.
I did what I think any reasonable person would do after they hear about someone they might have met, might have had the joy of seeing really change the world for the better be struck down by rape and murder.
I got roaring drunk.
I’m a man. I’m a man who doesn’t understand men. I’m a man who cannot comprehend why men would force their penis inside another human being and then kill them. Earlier tonight I sat in a bathtub moaning in pain, confused and spitting out bile onto my own penis because I cannot bear the truth. I seek no pity. I’m just making clear where I’m at because I’m hoping men might read this and feel sick. I’m placing all my bets right now on men one by one realising that you cannot blame autism or mental illness for the way we’re manipulated to perceive women’s worth. I’m telling all men that this is on you, because I’m a man and it’s on me. I’m desperate to say the thing that will stop men in their tracks. I’ll say whatever it takes.
My fellow men. This is me begging. Begging you to imagine how it would feel if it were done to you, and then – knowing how horrific it would be to feel and remember for the rest of your life – don’t joke about it, don’t consider it, don’t fantasize about it, and DON’T DO IT to someone else. If it’s about needing to be sexually gratified then there are other ways to access that than hurting and forcing someone. If it’s about the perverse excitement of forcing someone then please don’t take that pornography seriously because it’s not real. If it’s about hurting someone on purpose then you need to seek help and insight from a medical professional and there’s no shame in doing that, seek counsel. If it’s about being an incel then I don’t know what to tell you except if you refuse to see woman and non-heterosexual human beings as human then I challenge you to remove all bitterness and shame from your thoughts and actions before you think or act. If it’s about power, then I assure you there is no crime considered more cowardly than that which you are considering committing.
And if you’re sitting there reading this thinking “I’m a man too and I would never do that to someone”, that’s not the end of it. Tell your friends off, call strangers out, report the content, unsubscribe from the channel, call the watchdog, attend the vigil, listen to the experience, acknowledge that there are things you don’t know and seek educating. There is never nothing you can do.
Women shouldn’t have to live a life where their whereabouts are policed by needing to check in with friends. Women shouldn’t live in fear. Men shouldn’t live in privilege.
There’s that part of the comic book, where Batman or Wonder Woman or Black Panther or Chalice goes home and think about those who did not survive. Those they could not save. That’s how I know I’m feeling right now. Like we weren’t fast enough, or strong enough, or loud enough. Like there was something we missed, and now we’ve lost an innocent human being who was just walking home from work. We failed. Eurydice was and remains part of that battle to make this world safe. And that moment Batman or Wonder Woman or Black Panther or Chalice go home and realise they’re not a superhero at all? That’s how it feels. That’s what it feels like to cry in your bathtub with the shower running, making inhumane drunken sounds from the depths of your soul in agony. That’s what it feels like to cancel your comedy show in honour. That’s what it feels like to fight the urge to call every woman you know to make sure she’s safe right now.
But at some point we will get up. And we will dry off. And we will put the suit back on in the morning. And be Batman, or Wonder Woman, or Black Panther, or Chalice.
Because we know Eurydice Dixon means far more than giving up now.